Survival
by staceycj
Summary: Moments after 7X23 Sam and Dean need to survive their current predicaments and find each other.
1. Chapter 1

You didn't survive hell so much as you endured it, and Dean understood that now. In hell he was mutilated, carved, sliced, diced, disemboweled, fileted, dismembered, and all around torn asunder. However, he always knew that no matter what they did to him, he would come back, be whole, and be subjected to the same torture all over again. You didn't survive that, you found ways to hold on to your sanity, to hold on to your fighting spirit, to hold on to what made you….you. And Dean had done that, he had endured his time in the pit, he hadn't done it with grace and dignity, but he had come out the other side, scarred and little broken, but he had made it.

Purgatory, on the other hand, was something you survived. In purgatory, Dean was the hunted, the prey, the food, the weakest link in the chain, and the things in purgatory were the predators; predators that once had preyed upon humans, and more than likely hadn't had a taste of their favorite morsel, whether it be human flesh or human blood, in a very long time, and Dean presented every single one of them the opportunity for a meal they had long sought.

It didn't take long after Castiel left for Dean to realize that if he was hurt in purgatory, he stayed hurt unlike in hell. In the first ten minutes of his arrival one of the predators got a good shot in, tore a gash in his thigh three inches long, and it gushed blood, for a second Dean had wondered if the thing had hit something vital, and wondered if he was doomed to die right here, in a forest of dilapidated trees, and decaying earth. That wound showed him how mortal he was here, and there was no telling what would happen to his everlasting soul if he were to die in purgatory. That thought made him shudder.

Dean took off, pushing his body to the limit, ignoring the pain his wounded leg, and sprinted through the trees, through the brush, tripped, stumbled, yet continued to push and to seek a place to hide.

He found a place to stop. He scanned the area as he rested against one of the dead gnarled trees, and he looked down at his leg, realized that he probably didn't have but a few minutes before the creatures would pick up on his scent, and follow him right to his hiding place. His blood would call to them, his blood would lead them there, and once found, there was nothing he was going to be able to do, he had no weapons except for his pocket knife and his wits, and it looked like for the first time in his life, his wits were going to be his strongest weapon.

He tore a strip of fabric from his black t-shirt and quickly wrapped the wound on his leg tightly, trying to stop the bleeding, and making sure that there would be no drips for the monsters to follow like breadcrumbs.

He caught his breath, assessed his surroundings and took off again at a breakneck pace towards the thickest brush. He wasn't sure how these creatures moved, but he figured that if he went towards the path of most resistance, that the monsters wouldn't anticipate, at least for a little while, and he might be able to find some place to hole up and regroup, to figure out what was going on, and how exactly to proceed.

He heard the screech of something inhuman, something that had more than likely never been human, and the sound felt close, and Dean knew, knew down to his bones, that they were close, and they were going to find him, and like a frightened rabbit, he sprinted towards the thicket, ignoring the pain in his leg, focusing only on the need to survive.

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Sam looked around Dick Roman's lab, his breath was coming fast and shallow, he knew that if he didn't get it under control he was going to hyperventilate, but he couldn't control it, he couldn't control the shaking in his hands as they raked through his thick hair, he couldn't control the frantic beating of his heart, he couldn't control anything. He was alone. Completely. Totally. Alone. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.

He did start hyperventilating.

He ended up on the floor in the Leviathan gore soaked room and tried to pull himself together. Tried to come up with a plan. But he couldn't. He could barely string any thoughts together other than: FIND DEAN. And for a while those two words were paralyzing. How was he going to find his brother when he didn't even have a starting point? How was he going to find his brother when there was no one to help him? How was HE, Sam Winchester, supposed to do anything useful? He had tried over the years to help his brother and only succeeded in disappointing him, shaming him, hurting him. Dean didn't stand a chance with just Sam to find him. But he was all Dean had.

He took a deep breath and willed his brain to think of a way, any way, in which to help his brother. His first thought was to find a demon and bleed it, drink the blood, and become strong enough to strong arm Crowley into helping him find his brother. Then he remembered Dean's eyes when he found out about the blood the first time, the shame, the disappointment, the fear. And Sam knew right then that there was no way that he could do that again, no way that he could disappoint his brother like that again.

He would have to find Dean with nothing but his wits, because his wits were all that was left to him. His brain continued to pulse with the words FIND DEAN. And he allowed that thought to encourage rather than paralyze his body to force itself to stand erect. It wasn't' easy, his body was numb, his limbs loose, and his body heavy. He stumbled a little when he finally stood and looked around the room as if expecting an arrow pointing in the direction of his missing brother, he forced his feet to move to take a step forward, to take a step in the direction that would save his brother, but all he saw was black blood slowly oozing down the walls, and he was rooted to that spot.

And as if the hand of providence came down and touched his forehead like an angel intent on taking him on an acid trip back to 1960, that blood and gore running down the walls ignited a fire inside of him that hadn't been stoked in ages. His lips formed a tight line, his fists clenched; the gruesome remains of the Leviathans became fuel for the fire in his belly. If he and his brother could find a way to kill the king of the monsters that angels feared, then he could find a way to find his brother, a way to keep the remaining Leviathans under check. Sam would do this, Sam would survive this, Dean would survive this.

He took a deep breath and sprinted for the door, out of the lab and into the Impala which was still semi impaled in the glass sign out in front, her engine purred to life, Sam caressed the steering wheel and said shakily, "Come on baby, we've got to get Dean home, we've got to save him."

He revved the engine and took off in reverse, knocking over shrubbery and destroying flowers, and kicking up dirt in his wake. The Impala, unfazed by the crash, roared down the road, just as determined as her driver to find the man they called family.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean had been on his own since he had been dropped in purgatory, and he had been on the run ever since. After the first couple of days of sprinting from tree to tree, from hidey hole to hidey hole, suped up on adrenaline, his body was beginning to grow weary and hungry. Thirst had overcome him early on, and he had found animals, animals that resembled deer, running through the dead trees and kicking up the dead leaves and foul smelling decay. Dean realized that they must be the prey in this horrible wasteland, must be the only source of living blood in this hell hole, and he realized that they, like him, were going to need a source of water in order to keep up their wretched existence.

He followed them to their watering hole and he watched them drink, his own tongue like sandpaper urging him forward trying to override his brain and force his feet to sprint and get a drink of water no matter how putrid, foul, or poisonous it might have been. But his brain remembered Bobby's teachings, if the animals go there to drink, and you watch them drink without hesitation, odds were pretty good that the water was at least semi-safe. And he forced his body whose dry mouth, whose throat was sore, and whose muscles ached with lack of water, to sit patiently and wait for the animals to be finished. And when they were and scattered back into the woods silently as a cat on snow, Dean bolted for the water and drank greedily, drank until he threw up, and then caught his breath and returned to the water more gently and took smaller sips. When he had taken all he knew that was safe he rocked back on his haunches and looked up into the perpetually twilight sky wished that he was home with Sam, and they were arguing about something as trivial as which diner they would go to.

He didn't have much time to think, to wish or to dream…the monsters must have found him again, and he sensed their presence to his left and his back. He hurried away from the water source and back into the perpetual night.

Since the night he found water, he had been on the run, and acting like a wounded scared little animal, hardly sleeping and rarely remaining in one place. But the time came when Dean realized what he was doing, realized he was running scared, and that was exactly what these creatures expected him to do. They were expecting him to act like prey, and he was indulging, and when that thought passed through his adrenaline and fear addled brain, a wave of clarity overcame him. He wasn't a runner, he wasn't weak, he wasn't prey. Dean Winchester was a survivor, he was a fighter, and he protected the weak and the defenseless. And for God's sake, he had been instrumental in saving the world. It was time to stop running scared and be the man he knew he was, the man his father had trained him to be, the man that Bobby Singer had trusted with his life, the man that Sam Winchester had looked up to his whole life and admired and loved.

That was the day Dean decided to stop running. It was high time to find a weapon.

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Sam's first mission after Dean's disappearance was to put out feelers to everyone in the hunting community, to let them know about Dick's master plan, let them know that some of the food in the United States was tainted, and finally that Dick was dead. And the last people he contacted were the men and women whom Bobby had trusted, whom Dean had trusted, whom their father had trusted, that Dean was missing and asked them to keep an ear to the ground.

Sam, for his part, spent the majority of his time running from one place to another, spent countless hours driving and following leads that led him nowhere except to yet another big mouth that claimed that they didn't know anything about Dean, didn't know anything about Dick's plans, (albeit they were far less cocky than when they had tried to torture information out of them before Dick's death), and they denied and denied no matter what torture techniques he devised—and Sam became more creative the longer Dean was missing.

Then there were the nights when he finally gave in to his body's weariness, when he realized how alone and vulnerable he was. Dean died many moons ago and left him alone, or Sam had thought he was alone, but truly he'd had friends—Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and countless others. He chose to find power with Ruby, but he didn't have to, he could have sought help from his friends. He knew that now. Hindsight was 20/20. But today, he was well and truly alone. Dean was gone, Bobby, Elle, Jo…. (What he wouldn't give to hear Bobby's grumbles, or to listen to Dean complain.)

And it was one of those nights when his brain, which never stopped thinking never stopped chewing on the problems at hand, came up with a possibility. What if Dean had gone to Purgatory? What if that son of a bitch Dick Roman, on his way out of town, had grabbed a hold of Dean's coat and drug Dean with him to purgatory? Sam sat bolt up in bed, rushed to his computer and threw open the lid. Sam researched until the dawn light spread through the dingy curtains and flooded the computer screen causing a glare and forcing him to turn away. His search had yielded nothing. But there were two storage containers filled to the brim with books about the supernatural, books about religion, books about angels, demons and everything else. All he had to do was go. He packed up his things and was in the Impala quicker than you could say his name.

His hands shook with sleep deprivation, with hunger, with fatigue, but he didn't care, this was the only possibility he could come up with, the only link in the logic chain that might take him to his brother. Sam pressed hard on the accelerator, this time he would get his brother, find him, save him. And he would do it the right way, the smart way, the way his father had taught him, the way Bobby Singer had nurtured, and the way that Dean Winchester had raised, loved and cared for him.

It was high time to find a way into the abyss and pull Dean out.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean Winchester was a trained survivalist. He knew how to hunt animals just as supremely as he did monsters, he knew how to find water, how to find food, and he knew how to make do with the materials available. His father and Bobby had seen to all aspects of his training. And for the first time in his life he was grateful for the lessons he had thought, as a child, would be useless. Because, "Bobby, when am I ever going to need to kill my own food when I could just go steal something from a store…it would be easier." Or "Dad when am I ever going to need to know how to start a fire with sticks? You always tell me to keep at least two lighters on me at all times."

But here, in purgatory, he needed all of those skills and more. After his long drink in the safe water, Dean followed the deer like animals for days and watched what they ate because he wouldn't be able to survive on water alone for very long. The deer like creatures ate the blue berries from a clump of bushes at the water's edge, and as soon as they were gone Dean pounced on the bushes himself. Dean found that nothing tasted better, not even his beloved bacon cheese burgers, than the bitter berries that he had thrust into his mouth once he realized that something, anything in this hell hole was edible.

Once the idea of food was taken care of, Dean took care of defense. He had a single knife on him and he used it to fashion arrows out of solid bamboo like material, he fashioned a bow from vines and pliable wood. But the things that ran purgatory, the things that he and his brother had put here didn't just give him a week or two to take care of these things. They chased him from one end of creation to another, and all the while he made his weapons, it didn't matter if he was up in trees hiding from a monster he called the AC/DC. It was a monster with glowing red eyes, legs (no arms which is why it was safer to hide in a tree), and fangs that shot a substance that burned, and if aimed in the right place could paralyze a limb (it took hours and hours for him to regain the feeling in one of his arms, thank God Sam had made him do upper body work in the last couple of months or he never would have been able to climb that first tree.) The AC/DC waited and waited for him, but Dean's stamina was more than the little hissing thing could handle and he left after several hours (according to Dean's watch which seemed to have survived the trip to purgatory), apparently bored and sought easier prey.

He also worked on his weapons as he stood in practically shoulder deep in murky shallow waters. One of the beasts chasing him which he called a Led Zeppelin, apparently couldn't tolerate water, and he like the AC/DC waited for him, but again, Dean's desire to live far outpaced the LZ's ability to wait. But he managed it, he managed to create a weapon that could slow the sons of bitches down as he ran away and found a place to hide, because there really wasn't any other option. These things didn't die, they were already dead—that's why they were here, they simply stopped for a few moments, yanked out the arrow, and continued the chase. However those few moments sometimes were the difference between survival and being the thing's next meal.

Dean made dozens of hidey holes, put extra arrows, food, and water, water which he stored in a bladder of one of the creatures that he had followed, killed, ate what he could, and used the hide for clothing, because his was becoming rags, and bedding. It had about killed Dean to put down one of those innocent animals that had for some reason been condemned to a life of misery. But he had done it, because he needed to, and he had apologized to the animal as he had done it.

But Dean was a survivor, and he knew that he had to simply wait long enough, stay alive long enough, and his brother would figure a way to get him home. And that thought, that thought alone, was what propelled him forward.

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Sam spent days inside the storage unit, he poured himself over books, barely ate, barely slept, barely spared a moment to use the restroom. Finding Dean was the only thing on his radar, and this time he was determined to be the one who would see his brother safely home, this time he wouldn't rely on demons, angels, or anything else that had an ulterior motive. This time, he was going to do it right, this time he was going to find Dean on his own, and this time it would be the strength of two brothers, bond forged in the fire of their mother's death, tempered by love, war, and battle, that would save Dean, that would bring him home.

And it was on the third (or fourth?) day of his research marathon that his phone began to ring. He silenced it. It rang again and again, and finally he turned it off. Then e-mails began appearing at the bottom of his screen, interrupting his reading.

"What in the hell could be so God damn important!" He wailed and clicked on the offending icon.

Subject: Help

Sam, this is Maddox. I need your help putting a woman in white down. I tried getting ahold of Dean, but his phone was going straight to voice mail and the mail box was full, so I tried calling you but you weren't picking up. I need you guys here in Minnesota. Call me.

Sam ignored the message and went back to work. He continued to scour the internet sites and the e-mail continued to pour in. As the fourth one came in, Sam's conscience perked up and told him that he should go, that a hunter was in need of his services and that it was the right thing to do.

"The right thing to do is to stay here and find my brother." He said out loud to no one in particular.

_The right thing to do is save lives. The selfish thing to do is stay here with your head in the sand._ Sam would have been able to ignore his conscious, if it hadn't sounded so much like Dean.

He slammed his hand down on the desk and sighed. He turned on his phone, and called Maddox.

Sam drove at break neck speed to Maddox in Minnesota, and when he arrived he was aggravated ad sleep deprived. Maddox took one look at him and his eyebrows drew together in confusion.

"Where's Dean?"

"I don't know." Sam replied simply.

"You two split up?" he asked surprised.

"No. Something took him."

"What? I thought you guys had angels on your team."

Sam snorted. "Angels are nothing but dicks with wings."

"What happened?" Maddox asked.

"A week ago, we killed something and when it died it took…" Sam trailed off a light bulb going off inside his skull. "Son of a bitch got trapped in purgatory." He said incredulously.

"What?" Maddox asked.

"Long story. Let's get rid of this woman in white and then I'll tell you." And true to his word, Sam helped Maddox dispatch of the woman in white and then told Maddox everything.

"How are you going to get him back?" Maddox asked sipping his beer.

"I don't know. But now, at least I have a starting point, I can look from there."

"When you figure out a way, call me. I'll help." Sam's brows furrowed.

"You will? Why?"

"You helped me. I'll do the same for you. Call when you find out how to get him." He said and flipped a couple of bills onto the table and stood up. "Call me Sam. Thanks for the help." Sam nodded, downed the last of his beer, and got into the car. Just a little more time and he would find his brother, now that he had a starting place, it should be easy….yeah….because everything for the Winchesters was easy.


	4. Chapter 4

Because nothing was ever easy for a Winchester, surviving, no matter how talented a survivalist he was, was very difficult in Purgatory. He lost spears, he broke arrows, and was forced, almost daily, to repair or make new. And all it took was a second, hurrying, and trying to get his hastily repaired weapon back in his hand, when one of the purgatory asshats came out of nowhere and knocked him on his ass. Not only knocked him on his ass, but reopened the wound on his leg that he received shortly after arriving, and to give him a few new ones. He was positive he was going to die, in fact, he opened his eyes wide and took a deep breath and made peace with his maker, when several of the prey animals, the same animals in which he had killed and eaten, used their hides for clothing, and their bladders for water canteens, sprang from behind the dead trees and pounced upon Dean's attacker, and two more came from behind and grabbed a hold of the hides that wrapped around Dean's shoulders and drug him from the battle field.

Dean heard the sounds of battle and struggled against the animal's grip, trying to go and get into the battle. Dean wasn't one to be drug from the field and sidelined. Dean was a man of action, he was a man that didn't run from a fight, a man who had been trained to fight until his last breath, to help others who couldn't help themselves. The animals gripping his clothes locked a little tighter and drug a little faster, sensing that Dean was trying to bolt.

They got him into his hidey hole and guarded the outside until the battle had ended. They guarded it as much to keep monsters out as to keep Dean in. And when the last echoes of battle cries died in the distance the animals turned to Dean, and for the first time Dean got a good look at the faces of the prey animals. It took all he had not to gasp. They were human eyes, and they held sorrow and fear like people, one, with soft brown eyes, was weeping as it looked into the distance after those who had gone into battle and had surly died against the better equipped monsters of purgatory.

"You're human." Dean said breathlessly. All eyes turned to him, and the largest, apparently the leader of the small pack, nodded blue eyes sparkling with sadness.

"Oh my God." Dean put a hand on the smallest's nose and it pushed into his hand as if starved for human touch. "Oh my God." He said again more breathless than the first. "Not tainted enough to go to hell, but not clean enough to heaven." He ran a dirty hand down his bearded face. "And when you die.." he hesitated, "like your friends did, or like the one I killed…" He hung his head ashamed now that he was wearing a hide that had once housed a human soul, "do you finally get some peace? Or do you go to hell?" He asked and did his best not to choke on the words. None of the people-animals replied, their privilege of speech was revoked upon being thrust into this state, but their eyes said it all. They didn't know, but they all suspected the worst.

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"Maddox," Yarborrow began. "I need some help taking down a nest of vampires."

"I'd love to help Yarborrow, but I can't. I'm up to my ass in black dogs. Call Sam Winchester."

"I'm not calling one of those crazy sons of bitches. Everywhere they go something catastrophic happens." Yarborrow said incredulously.

" It's just Sam."

"What?"

"Dean's not with him."

"Dean dead?"

"Trapped."

"And Sam hasn't gotten him out yet?"

"He's trapped in purgatory."

"How in the hell did that boy…" Yarborrow stopped there and pinched the bridge of his nose. Those Winchester boys were infamous, and most of the hunting community know that they only knew a fraction of what had really happened to the brothers Winchester, so it wasn't really shocking that one of them had gotten themselves trapped somewhere mythic.

"Call Sam." Maddox repeated.

"Sam won't be any help. He's going to be too focused on finding his stubborn son of a bitch brother."

"He is. But he's going to need help when he figures out how to get Dean out."

"I ain't gettin' in that mess."

"How many people have the vampires killed?" Maddox asked softly knowing that the number of dead would be Yarborrow's Achilles heel. Yarborrow gritted his teeth and sighed.

"10 adults and two children."

"So, are you willing to add yourself to that list, or possibly become one of those blood suckers, or are you going to suck it up and call Sam Winchester, who by all accounts has killed dozens of those sons a bitches, and ask him for his help?" Yarborrow was silent on the other end of the phone and Maddox sighed. "He helped me a couple of weeks ago with a woman in white, no muss no fuss, just put her down and we had a beer afterwards. He's great to have at your back. Tell him that you'll help him when the time comes, and we all know it will, when he had figured out a way to help Dean."

Yarborrow set his teeth and forced himself to call Sam Winchester after he hung up with Maddox. "Winchester." He began after Sam answered the call.

"Yes."

"A trade."

"I'm busy."

"Help me with a vampire nest, and I'll help you with your brother." There was silence on the other end and then a deep intake of breath.

"Where are you?"

"Utah."

"Be there in two days." And the line was disconnected. Yarborrow sighed and prayed to whatever God would listen that Sam Winchester wouldn't be the death of him.


End file.
